


Drive the Dark Things Away

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future AU, set after Arya makes it back home to Westeros</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive the Dark Things Away

In his mind, it’s been winter ever since she left.

_It suits her,_ Gendry thought wryly, lips twisting up at the corner, hands going back to his hammer. He bent at his work, the sun beating patterns into his back, and tried to remember the last time he saw her. He didn’t have to try very hard; in truth, the vision of Arya’s face looking up at him, twisted up and eyes screaming at him, was never far from his memory, as much as he tried to bury it.

“Gods damn it,” he muttered as the hammer missed the steel completely. Gendry wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed, willing his mind not to go there, not wanting to think about what could have happened to her. _No,_ he told himself shaking his head. _Not now._

Gendry made himself work until sunset, using every last drop of sunlight that he could, before he put down the hammer and hid away the steel he’d been working on. Shaking the work from his fingers, he headed back towards the inn, towards food and rest, towards enough noise to block out his thoughts. 

Halfway to the stables, he stopped short when he saw a figure leaning against the peeling wall. Her hair was longer, it made her look softer, somehow, but everything else was the same; the shorn off breeches, the sinewy limbs, even the defiance in her stance.

_“Arya?”_ Gendry asked, running his fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” she said simply, walking up to meet him. She stopped, looking up at him, eyes no longer screaming at him, and answered him before he could even open his mouth. “I was in the area,” she told him, turning around and walking towards the inn. “You got any good food?”

*

Gendry couldn’t help himself; he stared at Arya throughout the meal like she was a dream, likely as not to vanish into dust, never to be seen again. Jeyne noticed, Gendry could tell, but she knew enough not to say anything. Arya only noticed once. _“What?”_ she asked exasperatedly. “What are you _looking_ at?”

_You,_ Gendry wanted to say. “Nothing,” he said instead, bending his head to take another bite of meat.

“So,” he said after dinner was finished, after the dishes had been cleared away, after everyone had left them. Or they had left everyone; in truth, they had walked outside, settling in the grass under the moon, feeling almost like they were back with Yoren on the crawl North. “How have you been?” It seemed ridiculous to ask that; this was _Arya_ after all, but there it was. 

She stretched out in the grass, comfortable in the silence. “Alright,” she said finally, closing her eyes, the moonlight making shadows out of her face. 

“Just alright?” Gendry laughed. It was easier to laugh, now, with her next to him. “What have you been _doing_ these past few years? You know the war’s over right?” He added, teasing a little.

“I’ve been...busy, with some things,” Arya said carefully. “I had a list to finish,” she finished, propping up on elbows, pulling out grass by the tufts.

“What kind of list?” He can’t help it; his curiosity is piqued when it comes to Arya.

“Just a list,” she said flatly. “Gods, why do you have to be so _nosy_ all the time, Gendry, _huh?”_ She gathered up the torn grass and threw it at him; a childish, volatile gesture; an Arya gesture.

A beat, while Gendry considered her, this girl of winter come back to haunt him. “Will you stay?” He asks finally, looking away before she can see the hope in his eyes.

“No,” she answered simply. A silence stretched between them again; cracked and broken, and before Gendry could say anything, Arya opened her mouth. “My list. I’m not finished yet. It’s-it’s something I _have_ to do.”

He nodded, wondering if she knew her hands had curled into fists, if she knew her eyes flashed when she spoke. “Is it something I can help you with?” He couldn’t help himself; he had to ask.

“It’s something I just need to do myself,” Arya answered, sounding distant. She shook herself, her tone turned teasing as she continued, “Besides I don’t _need_ a stupid smith to slow me down.”

He looked down at her, back in familiar territory. “What if I’m not going to help you? What if I’m going to help me? It’d be nice to stretch my legs some, get back on the road.” He glanced down in time to see the smile disappearing on her face.

*

They were on the road within a day’s time. There had been tears, of course, and desperate pleas for Gendry to stay, but when it was all said and done, they were on the road.

Gendry knew better than to ask where Arya was leading them; he only stepped in when it seemed likely that she would keep marching on all night. “Oh, no you don’t, some of need sleep,” he said, stepping in front of her as the twilight deepened around them.

_“Fine,”_ she spat out, turning her back and stomping over to a rock until he had a fire crackling.

As they ate, Gendry pulled a wineskin out and took a long pull. He glanced at her when he was done, and shook his head slightly. _“What?”_ Arya wanted to know, a bite to her voice.

“Nothing,” Gendry answered easily. “Just-I think you might be too young, too much of a lady to drink-” Before he could get the words out, Arya had reached over to swipe the wineskin from his hand. He watched, amused, as she knocked it back, choking and spluttering as she swallowed.

_“What?”_ She asked again, eyes dangerous.

Gendry only laughed.

*

The wineskin was empty before the hour up, Arya’s lips tinted red. “I’ve never been _drunk_ before,” she told him, tipping her head back to look at the moonlight, filtered through the treetops.

“Really?” Gendry asked, surprised. _She’s castle-born, though. Don’t they drink wine as babes?_

Slight head shake, eyes dropped down to Gendry’s, burning with a fire. “I was too busy _surviving,_ you stupid bastard.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. While you were sitting cushy in that inn, I was _fighting.”_

They had moved closer in this dance of theirs, heads tilted, lips parted.

“Arya-”

She silenced him with a kiss, pushing him back against a tree, the bark scratching them both. Gendry tangled his hands in her hair, deepening the kiss, scraping his teeth along her lower lip.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He breathed against her, wanting her to say yes, wanting her to say no.

She didn’t answer, only pulled him closer.

*

They didn’t speak of it in the cold light of dawn; Arya only danced with Needle while Gendry packed up the makeshift camp.

Trudging along the road, watching Arya lunge at pretend enemies, Gendry felt like some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I missed you,” he offered, quietly, almost wishing she wouldn’t hear it.

When she looked back and laughed, the wind whipping her hair, he could almost believe that she had never disappeared. 

Arya ran ahead, waving Needle at the wind. “I missed you too,” she called over her shoulder.


End file.
